To link to the entire object, paste this link in email, IM or documentTo embed the entire object, paste this HTML in websiteTo link to this page, paste this link in email, IM or documentTo embed this page, paste this HTML in website

i Weber State LIimiversity May 29, 1998 -June 4, 1998 Tlhe death of (eoe Moore ! 7 lCj k-1 ,H i - ' M 1 3 . 1 i 4 ! s Ik 1 1 I' Roina Blake Moore Thornton survived the personal tragedy she experienced during the Civil War and lived to be 96 years old. This photo was taken on April 15, 1925 at her 94th birthday party. Author's Note: When my mom was a little girl, her family spent part of each summer in Gum Springs, Ark., visiting Granny and Papa her father's parents. She recalls driving over bumpy, dirt roads and listening to Granny point out different sites while telling stories about their ancestors. It was not until last Memorial Day that I heard any of these stories, and because of the many years between the time she heard the stories and the time she told them to me, Mom was fuzzy on a lot of the details. I was fascinated by her account, and the following story is the result of that fascination. By Mellyn L. Cole managing editor-77e Signpost efore he left, he helped her hide their most valuable pos rk session a saddle in a hole that was careiully cut into the wall of the kitchen. Jessie had said she might need it if something happened to him and he didn't come back from the war. Although he lived in Arkansas, Jessie Moore was a Northerner through and through. He walked like a Yank, with a confident, arrogant stride, and he talked like a Yank, with his short clipped sentences. The wood fit back over the hole perfectly, providing a clever hiding place. Jessie's only instruction before he mounted up and rode off to fight for the Union Army was to be careful. Roina walked back into the cabin slowly, holding her son's hand. The little boy toddled toward the door, pointing at Jessie, who was soon just a small speck far olTin the distance. She touched the mother of pearl comb that held her thick hair back. Jessie had given it to her as a wedding present, and touching it made her ache with loneliness. She had lived her entire life in the South, but was little affected by the politics that were tearing apart families and communities until now. Roina kept dressing Nicholas in the gowns that were common for young boys at that time. She let his hair grow long, reasoning that if soldiers came through, either from the North or the South, he would be safer as a girl. The night the bushwhackers showed up, Roina was just starting to think about supper. She'd been working outside and walked around the corner of the cabin in time to sec two men emerge from the barn. "Howdy, ma'am," one said. "How about feeding a couple of hungry soldiers'?" Roina nodded curtly and led them inside the house. One man sprawled across the bench at the kitchen table while she cooked. The oilier sut in Jessie's chair on the edge of the kitchen. He had long spindly legs and the remains of a Confed- Jessie Lee Moore Born in Randolph Co., NC. May 1 1, 1827 Died June 11, 1863 "Remember, friends, as you pass by, That all mankind be born to die: Then let your cares on Christ be cast, That you May dwell with Him at last." See Jessie page 2

Public Domain. Courtesy of University Archives, Stewart Library, Weber State University.

Full-Text

i Weber State LIimiversity May 29, 1998 -June 4, 1998 Tlhe death of (eoe Moore ! 7 lCj k-1 ,H i - ' M 1 3 . 1 i 4 ! s Ik 1 1 I' Roina Blake Moore Thornton survived the personal tragedy she experienced during the Civil War and lived to be 96 years old. This photo was taken on April 15, 1925 at her 94th birthday party. Author's Note: When my mom was a little girl, her family spent part of each summer in Gum Springs, Ark., visiting Granny and Papa her father's parents. She recalls driving over bumpy, dirt roads and listening to Granny point out different sites while telling stories about their ancestors. It was not until last Memorial Day that I heard any of these stories, and because of the many years between the time she heard the stories and the time she told them to me, Mom was fuzzy on a lot of the details. I was fascinated by her account, and the following story is the result of that fascination. By Mellyn L. Cole managing editor-77e Signpost efore he left, he helped her hide their most valuable pos rk session a saddle in a hole that was careiully cut into the wall of the kitchen. Jessie had said she might need it if something happened to him and he didn't come back from the war. Although he lived in Arkansas, Jessie Moore was a Northerner through and through. He walked like a Yank, with a confident, arrogant stride, and he talked like a Yank, with his short clipped sentences. The wood fit back over the hole perfectly, providing a clever hiding place. Jessie's only instruction before he mounted up and rode off to fight for the Union Army was to be careful. Roina walked back into the cabin slowly, holding her son's hand. The little boy toddled toward the door, pointing at Jessie, who was soon just a small speck far olTin the distance. She touched the mother of pearl comb that held her thick hair back. Jessie had given it to her as a wedding present, and touching it made her ache with loneliness. She had lived her entire life in the South, but was little affected by the politics that were tearing apart families and communities until now. Roina kept dressing Nicholas in the gowns that were common for young boys at that time. She let his hair grow long, reasoning that if soldiers came through, either from the North or the South, he would be safer as a girl. The night the bushwhackers showed up, Roina was just starting to think about supper. She'd been working outside and walked around the corner of the cabin in time to sec two men emerge from the barn. "Howdy, ma'am," one said. "How about feeding a couple of hungry soldiers'?" Roina nodded curtly and led them inside the house. One man sprawled across the bench at the kitchen table while she cooked. The oilier sut in Jessie's chair on the edge of the kitchen. He had long spindly legs and the remains of a Confed- Jessie Lee Moore Born in Randolph Co., NC. May 1 1, 1827 Died June 11, 1863 "Remember, friends, as you pass by, That all mankind be born to die: Then let your cares on Christ be cast, That you May dwell with Him at last." See Jessie page 2